


Game On

by novembersmith



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersmith/pseuds/novembersmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(907): We are gonna be 90 years old in wheelchairs at the nursing home sitting at computers poking each other and waiting for the other to die so we will have the last facebook poke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game On

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what happened. I was reading through thisissirius' TFLN challenge and saw this prompt amidst the fills. It ate my brain. Mild changes to the original text have occurred. Much love to my beleaguered cheerleader/beta, laliandra. &yourface

The thing is, the thing is -- Eduardo never got around to defriending Mark on Facebook. He doesn't know why. Maybe it's just that he doesn't want to give Mark the satisfaction. It'd be a petty gesture. Eduardo isn't petty. He tells himself that this is how shallow and pathetic Facebook is, that he can look at a website that says Eduardo Saverin and Mark Zuckerberg are friends.

In reality, the last time he'd spoken to Mark at a meeting of shareholders, Mark had never met his eyes. He'd stared over Eduardo's shoulder, hands in his hoodie pocket and eyes distant while Eduardo had congratulated Mark on the expansion to Korea. Later, at the bar, Eduardo'd found half-moon circles of blood on his palms. He'd clenched his fists, trying to keep his face straight and voice steady, and only found the cuts later.

Typical.

He can't remember the last time Mark's spoken to him directly.

Friends. _Right_.

Gretchen had brought it up before the depositions. Why, if they were now engaged in a lawsuit, had Eduardo not pressed that one simple button and ended it on the internet. _In ink_ , Eduardo had thought. He still wonders if Erica had actually said that, or if it had come to her later, after everything, when she'd been thinking over their past conversations and the things she could have said.

"He was my first friend on Facebook," Eduardo had said in response, looking out over the rain-smeared city beyond the window, not meeting his lawyer's eyes. "I guess I'm nostalgic." So bitter he could practically taste it, and Gretchen had coughed and changed the subject.

It had never come up; Eduardo wonders if it was like the chicken. If Mark had specifically told his own lawyers not to talk about it. If Mark thought bringing it up would curdle that last vestige of their moment together, triumphant in the electric glow of the computer screen when The Facebook had come online.

No. That's stupid. Mark probably never thought of it at all, let alone cared. Maybe he wants Mark to see him in his newsfeed, think of him, remember him. But Mark could see him anyway, if he wanted. Could follow each electronic movement, from the friends Eduardo made to the pages he looked at.

Maybe it is petty, leaving that electronic memento out there in the ether. Eduardo occasionally admits that to himself. Tonight's one of those nights.

He's drunk in his apartment in Singapore, laptop balanced on his knees, and that fucking site open in blue and white. Most of a bottle of red wine is gone, and he hasn't eaten since brunch. He was always better at taking care of Mark than of himself.

He doesn't know what makes him click the button on Mark's page now, after years of this, years of stilted pleasantries and licking his wounds in private.

He's going to blame the alcohol.

It's been six years since Facebook opened. Five and a half since it dropped the The. He closes his laptop and staggers off to bed.

In the morning, Mark's Poked him back, and there's a text from Dustin that's all garbled Autocorrect and question marks.

He can't deal with this. He has a meeting. Maybe if he ignores it, it'll go away. It was just a drunken, stupid Poke, a wish that there'd been a Stab button instead. In the list of idiotic mistakes Eduardo's made in his life, this barely hits the top twenty.

Dustin, twenty-five hours later: _if you wanted to make him crazy, gj, man. he hasn't left his desk yet and i blame u_

Eduardo snorts. Well. Revenge best served cold, after all, except some part of him... Fuck, this is what it takes to get Mark's attention. A lawsuit for six million and a click of the mouse. But Mark should get some sleep. He's running the company, and it's only self-interest, really, so Eduardo Pokes back, and then goes to shower, determinedly not thinking of dragging a stumbling Mark from his computer screen years ago, wrestling him into bed and collapsing on top of him to hold him down until Mark had gone limp and warm beneath him.

 _Sleep is not an option. It's a necessity._ Teasing but sincere, worried.

Mark, grumbling into Eduardo's neck, saying his name, shortened and slurred, and then he'd slept because he was that fucking tired, that spent, that he couldn't even complain or push away the contact. They'd woken curled together in a pool of sunlight, and Eduardo had thought there'd been something in Mark's eyes, thoughtful and lazy for once. Warm.

Nothing had happened. Nothing will ever happen. Eduardo was stupid to let himself think Mark was human enough for things to happen.

Mark's Poked him back when he finally lets himself check again, nine hours later.

This is ridiculous.

Eduardo refuses to let Mark get the last word in. That's the only reason he retaliates.

Six weeks and uncountable Poke updates later, and not a few texts from Dustin and Chris that Eduardo ignores, because no, he doesn't know what he's doing, but he doesn't have to tell anyone else that, his phone beeps discreetly during a business luncheon.

 _Will we be 90 years old in wheelchairs at the nursing home, sitting at computers poking each other and waiting for the other to die so we will have the last facebook poke?_

He doesn't know the number.

 _sounds overly optimistic_ he responds, fingers moving automatically, and the businessman across from him glares. Faux pas, of course, answering texts during an important meeting like this, as they're about to finalize a contract. Eduardo usually has better manners than this.

 _You'll make 90, Wardo._

 _in a nursing home with u? no thx. sounds like hell on earth_

 _I bett you wear plaid, and one of those caps old people wear._

 _r u drunk?_

 _I would like to grow old with you_

Eduardo gapes at his phone then shoves it in his pocket, smiling professionally and ignoring the buzzing for the next hour.

When he checks later, there's three missed calls and one text.

 _we're still friends on facebook. you didn't defriend._

Eduardo closes his eyes. Okay. So Mark had noticed. His phone feels heavy in his palm.

 _don't put this on me. it goes both ways. you didn't either_

Because it does go both ways. Mark could have brought it up in the depositions, could have done something about it during the years between that last moment in the Facebook offices with Sean sneering and Mark staring. It should have been easy. One of them should have done it.

 _Wardo. Why?_

 _i dont know_ , he admits, and he's shaking.

At the next shareholder meeting, Mark meets his eyes across the room. It's a long stupid moment, like something from a movie, with the two of them staring at each other and the rest of the crowd all background noise, unfocused. Mark's in a suit for once, and he's knotted his tie wrong. Eduardo's fingers itch with the need to fix it for him, and then someone walks between them and the moment's over.

Now he's talking to someone, smiling and nodding, and then their eyes widen. Before Eduardo can ask what's wrong, he feels a sudden sharp jab to the shoulder. He turns and Mark's walking quickly away from them, shoulders hunched. Then he glances back, raises an eyebrow, and Eduardo covers his mouth with his hand, feels the irrepressible curve of his own smile. His shoulder is tingling; the next move is his.

Okay. Okay, he thinks. Maybe... maybe this was why.

Game on.


End file.
